Category Archives: Food

The Story of Alabama in Fourteen Foods will be available July 2019

From Moon Pies: Mardi Gras in Mobile

During the month-long Mardi Gras season in Mobile, the
birthplace of Mardi Gras in America, more than thirty parades roll through the
downtown streets, each featuring a dozen floats. And at every parade, off of
every float, the prized catch is a MoonPie, a traditional southern snack made
from graham cookies and marshmallow that comes in a variety of flavors. Parade
crowds chant and clamor for MoonPies. “You can throw a MoonPie at a
two-year-old child and a fifty-year old will knock them out of the way to get
it,” says city councilman Fred Richardson. “If you run out of MoonPies, you
might as well just lay down on the float. You can throw beads for a little
while, but the people will start calling for MoonPies.”1

MoonPies missed in the air are still in play upon hitting
the ground. As Mobilian Carrie Dozier explains, her MoonPies “aren’t caught in
the air, but by scraping my fingernails like a rake on the pavement. It didn’t
hurt! All that mattered was that I got a MoonPie!” Dozier even claims that
MoonPies “from the parades have a different taste. These are the real things!”
And when MoonPies land “tauntingly outside the traffic barricade,” notes parade
goer Kim Kearley, they are retrieved “by savvy children able to perform the
fluid ‘under the barricade leg scissor.’ ” Others bring rakes.

MoonPies were first produced in 1917 at the Chattanooga
Bakery, founded in Tennessee in the early 1900s to use leftover flour from the
Mountain City Flour Mill. The MoonPie traces its origins to a sales call in a
Kentucky coal mining region, where workers toiled “all day long in soot-soaked
underground shafts, chiseling the coal into chunks and loading them into
waiting carts, which were whisked away one after another in an endless,
monotonous ritual,” writes MoonPie chronicler David Magee. “When the break
whistle blew, these mining men wanted a hearty snack, not a small package of
lemon cookies or ginger snaps.”2

When the commissary manager showed no interest in
Chattanooga Bakery products, company salesman Earl Mitchell approached a group
of miners to ask them what they did want. One miner replied that they wanted
something solid and filling for their lunch pails, then held his hands up to
the sky so they framed the moon and said, “about that big.” When Mitchell
returned to the Chattanooga Bakery, workers were dipping graham cookies into
vats of marshmallow and setting them on a windowsill to harden and dry. With
the miners in mind, Mitchell put two graham cookies together with marshmallow
in the middle and chocolate on top. He took samples of the new snack back to
the miners and received a positive response. At the time, MoonPies were one of
two hundred confection items made at the bakery, but they quickly became a
top-selling product.

The MoonPie was more than four inches in diameter and sold
for a nickel. Because it was affordable and filling, it was especially popular
among the working class. Similarly, in 1934, the Royal Crown Company in
Columbus, Georgia, began selling RC Cola in sixteen-ounce bottles instead of
the usual twelve, also for a nickel. With the MoonPie as the biggest snack cake
for a nickel and RC Cola as the biggest soda, together they became a popular
ten-cent combination, especially as a workingman’s lunch. Though neither
company made any effort to link the two products, the phrase “an RC Cola and a
MoonPie” became well-known across the South, bolstered by the 1951 hit country
song “RC Cola and Moon Pie” by Big Bill Lister.

Transportation improvements in the 1950s, including new
state and federal highways, more road-worthy vehicles, and more gasoline
stations, “served as a boundary breaker for the MoonPie.”3
The snack was soon sold and consumed nationally, though it was still most
popular in the South and in areas with high numbers of southern emigrants
including Detroit and Chicago, where the MoonPie was a staple snack for
industrial workers. By the late 1950s, the MoonPie had become so popular that
the Chattanooga Bakery produced nothing else.4

Around this time, MoonPies made
their debut as throws in Mobile Mardi Gras parades. Early Mardi Gras throws,
dating to the 1800s, were French bon bons or trick prizes like small bags of
flour that burst when caught. These were eventually banned, and throws reached
a lull until post–World War II, when they became an increasingly integral part
of Mardi Gras parades. In the 1940s and 1950s, taffy candy and serpentine
(rolls of unraveling confetti) were the most common throws, and it was
considered a feat to catch a whole roll of serpentine. “Throw me a whole roll,
mister!” became a common parade shout.

In the late 1950s, city officials banned serpentine
claiming that people choked on it, but some Mobilians insist the serpentine
actually choked the gutters and was a chore to clean up. To replace the missing
serpentine, float riders began throwing new items like rubber balls, beanbags,
candy kisses (chocolate, molasses, and peanut butter), doubloons (coins bearing
mystic society insignia), bags of peanuts, bubble gum, hard candies, and
Cracker Jacks.

The thrower of the very first MoonPie is up for debate,
and several local legends have sprung up around it. Complicating the issue is
the fact that many of the legends’ “first” MoonPies were actually local bakery
versions of the Chattanooga Bakery’s MoonPie. Even more perplexing is that all of
the legends are probably true. By the 1960s, the Mardi Gras season was two
weeks long and featured seventeen separate parades, each with numerous floats,
making it highly likely that different people on different floats in different
parades began throwing MoonPies (or versions of them) at the same time.

MoonPies’ real popularity as throws came in the early
1970s when the city of Mobile banned Cracker Jacks (the then favorite Mardi
Gras throw) because the sharp box corners were injuring spectators. MoonPies
perfectly filled the Cracker Jack void. They were soft, easy to throw and
catch, affordable, and had been a southern favorite for decades. They were an
instant Mardi Gras hit. “Oh, to catch a MoonPie!” writes Marie Arnott, who
attended parades in the 1970s. “Something that was actually edible and sweet!
They were doled out sparingly and the chant in the crowd was always for
MoonPies.”5

Over the next few decades, MoonPies grew into a Mobile
Mardi Gras institution. Today, each float rider throws roughly nine hundred
MoonPies during a single parade, estimates Stephen Toomey, owner of the primary
Mardi Gras supply store in Mobile.6 Toomey’s alone
sells 4.5 million MoonPies each Mardi Gras season. And though the streets are
littered with beads at the parade’s end, there are usually no MoonPies to be
found. For months after Mardi Gras, Mobile children find MoonPies in their
lunchboxes and trade each other for favorite flavors. Local newspapers print
MoonPie recipes. In 2003, Doris Allinson Dean published Death
by MoonPie, a cookbook full of creative ways to consume post–Mardi Gras
MoonPies. Though desserts make up most of the book (Dean pairs ice cream and
MoonPies in several), the book also features recipes for dressings, salads, and
sandwiches, including a vanilla MoonPie, ham, and pineapple melt.

Parades have always been the
greatest access point to Mardi Gras for the masses, and as the MoonPie quickly
became the beloved Mardi Gras throw, another parade tradition, also centered on
the public Mardi Gras experience and also unique to Mobile, took root.

Emily Blejwas is author of the novel Once You Know
This and director of the Gulf States Health Policy Center in Bayou La
Batre, Alabama.

1. History of the MoonPie Rise drawn
from interviews with Barbara Drummond, Steve Mussell, and Fred Richardson,
2009, Mobile, AL.

Still shopping for (and stressing over) thoughtful gifts for your friends and family? We’ve got you covered with books on history, language, culture, art, nature, and more. Give the gift of knowledge this holiday season, and get 30% off these titles with code HOLIDAYS18 at checkout.

For your dad, the history buff.

Alabama: The History of a Deep South State, Bicentennial Edition is a comprehensive narrative account of the state from its earliest days to the present. This edition, updated to celebrate the state’s bicentennial year, offers a detailed survey of the colorful, dramatic, and often controversial turns in Alabama’s evolution. Organized chronologically and divided into three main sections—the first concluding in 1865, the second in 1920, and the third bringing the story to the present—makes clear and interprets the major events that occurred during Alabama’s history within the larger context of the South and the nation.

For your foodie friends.

This book is the story of the Greek immigrant who left his tiny village in the rugged mountains of Greece’s Peloponnesos region for the uncertainty of a new life in a new country. The story traces the founding of the restaurant in 1907 and the family that continues the tradition of fine food and genuine hospitality that began there a century ago.

For the logophiles in your life.

Written in an accessible manner for general readers and scholars alike, Speaking of Alabama includes such subjects as the special linguistic features of the Southern drawl, the “phonetic divide” between north and south Alabama, “code-switching” by African American speakers in Alabama, pejorative attitudes by Alabama speakers toward their own native speech, the influence of foreign languages on Alabama speech to the vibrant history and continuing influence of non-English languages in the state, as well as ongoing changes in Alabama’s dialects.

For your friends who keep asking you to go camping.

Nature Journal is an innovative presentation of the best columns and photographs from L. J. Davenport’s popular column in Alabama Heritage magazine. Readers of the magazine have come to relish his artful and often witty descriptions of common species encountered in the Alabama outdoors. But Nature Journal is designed to be much more than a mere collection of entertaining essays; it is also an educational tool—a means of instructing and encouraging readers in the art of keeping a nature journal for themselves.

For the members of your book club.

Nebraska Waters is black. Vivian Gold is Jewish. In an Alabama kitchen where, for nearly thirty years, they share cups of coffee, fret over their children, and watch the civil rights movement unfold out their window, and into their homes, they are like family—almost.As Nebraska makes her way, day in and out, to Vivian’s house to cook and help tend the Gold children, the “almost” threatens to widen into a great divide. The two women’s husbands affect their relationship, as do their children, Viv Waters and Benjamin Gold, born the same year and coming of age in a changing South. The bond between the women both strengthens and frays.

For your uncle who loved Ken Burns’ Vietnam documentary.

For eight months, James P. Coan’s five-tank platoon was assigned to Con Thien while attached to various Marine infantry battalions. A novice second lieutenant at the time, the author kept a diary recording the thoughts, fears, and frustrations that accompanied his life on “The Hill.” Time in the Barrel: A Marine’s Account of the Battle for Con Thien offers an authentic firsthand account of the daily nightmare that was Con Thien. An enticing and fascinating read featuring authentic depictions of combat, it allows readers to fully grasp the enormity of the fierce struggle for Con Thien.

Among the Swamp People: Life in Alabama’s Mobile-Tensaw River Delta by Watt Key

For your cousin who’s writing their first novel.

Among the Swamp People is the story of author Watt Key’s discovery of the Mobile-Tensaw River Delta. “The swamp” consists of almost 260,000 acres of wetlands located just north of Mobile Bay. There he leases a habitable outcropping of land and constructs a primitive cabin from driftwood to serve as a private getaway. His story is one that chronicles the beauties of the delta’s unparalleled natural wonders, the difficulties of survival within it, and an extraordinary community of characters—by turns generous and violent, gracious and paranoid, hilarious and reckless—who live, thrive, and perish there.

For your sister who binge watches Bob Ross’ The Joy of Painting.

Grandeur of the Everyday is the first full-length volume dedicated to the life and work of Dale Kennington—an accomplished master of contemporary American realism. Kennington’s works often hold a strange familiarity, even for those coming to her work for the first time. Her paintings are at once familiar and yet defy specificity of place, clear and lucid while also dense in content. These effects derive from her unique ability to capture the essence of everyday living, the ordinary “in between” moments we often overlook in our day-to-day habits and transactions.

For your grandmother, the best cook you know. (And also anyone who has had the pleasure of trying the University Club’s bread pudding.)

In the University Club’s early years, the major force behind the gracious dining at that elegant antebellum house was Alline P. Van Duzor, who presided over the club with a will as strong as the cast-iron skillets that hung in her kitchen. Her tempting cuisine attracted many loyal diners to the club who invariably asked for the recipes. This cookbook was the result, written by Van Duzor in 1961 in characteristically straightforward style, and when originally published, it sold through at least eight printings. The more than 250 mouth-watering recipes from the Old South contained in the now-classic cookbook are written with easy-tofollow instructions, using common fresh and store-bought ingredients. This new edition has been augmented by a guide to portions and food brand names, an index to the recipes, and an appendix of past presidents of the University Club Board.

For your woke aunt who reads The New Yorker.

While much has been written on the Freedom Rides, far less has been published about the individual riders. Join award-winning author B. J. Hollars as he sets out on his own journey to meet them, retracing the historic route and learning the stories of as many surviving riders as he could. The Road South: Personal Stories of the Freedom Riders offers an intimate look into the lives and legacies of the riders. Throughout the book these civil rights veterans’ poignant, personal stories offer timely insights into America’s racial past and hopeful future.

May is National Barbecue Month. A time to celebrate cooking over an open flame. In the broadest sense, barbecue simply means the act of cooking anything over a fire, be it hamburgers, shrimp kebabs, or corn on the cob. For most Americans, though, the word has a more precise definition. It is, for starters, a particular type of food, and one that varies greatly from one part of the country to another. When an eastern North Carolinian says, “Let’s go get some barbecue,” he is referring to finely chopped bits of smoked pork mixed with a spicy, vinegar-based sauce. A Texan saying the same thing usually means sliced beef brisket, while someone from Memphis may be talking about a basket of pork ribs.

The identifying characteristics of a particular region’s style not only include the cuts of meat used, but the equipment and technique used to cook it, and how the meat is chopped, sliced, or otherwise prepared for serving. A region’s style also includes the type of sauce to be served (assuming, that is, that sauce is served at all) as well as the side items that accompany the meat. Over the course of a half-century, the menus and styles within particular areas began to coalesce into the unique regional variations that are so treasured by today’s barbecue lovers.

In Barbecue: The History of an American Institution Robert Moss writes these regional differences in barbecue coincided with the rise of barbecue as a commercial endeavor. Below in this short excerpt, Moss notes that the emergence of this trend can best be seen by looking at the evolution of barbecue as a commercial endeavor in different parts of the country between 1920 and the Second World War.

As in the early nineteenth century, the changes in barbecue culture were reflections of the shifting social landscape of the United States. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, America’s population steadily moved from the countryside into towns and cities. In a rural environment, it took a special occasion such as a stump speech or a civic celebration to draw a large enough crowd to justify roasting a whole pig. Country barbecues were one-time events, with pits dug in the ground for the occasion and supplies provided by the general community. As America’s towns and cities grew, they attracted enough people to serve as a stable clientele for daily operations, and it was in downtown areas that the first barbecue restaurants appeared. The term restaurant is used loosely here, for these operations were usually impromptu stands put up to sell food at public events or as a sideline to another trade, such as selling illegal whiskey. It took several decades for these informal ventures to evolve into full-service, sit-down restaurants.

The first permanent barbecue restaurants evolved out of these sorts of improvised stands as their owners expanded operations, adding brick and cinderblock pits, enclosing dining areas, and offering all the amenities of full-service restaurants. But it wasn’t just a matter of a few entrepreneurs starting to sell an item that was formerly available only at large public gatherings. In order to become a commercial product, barbecue itself had to change, and it changed differently in each part of the country. Early barbecue restaurants were the single greatest influence on the regionalization of barbecue, which created the multitude of local styles that we know today.

At old-style outdoor public barbecues, diners had a wide choice of meats because local farmers would donate to the cause whatever livestock they had on hand. It is common to see lists like the following in descriptions of such events: “beef, mutton, pork, and fowls were provided in superabundance and barbecued in an excellent manner.”As barbecue became a business, things became more standardized. In the days before mechanical refrigeration a proprietor could not keep much meat on hand for very long. Many restaurants began as weekend operations, with the proprietor barbecuing a whole hog or a side of beef on Thursday and selling it through the weekend until the supply was exhausted.11 It made sense for early businessmen to settle on one or two standard products to serve, and most chose the meat most readily available in the area—hence the prevalence of pork in North Carolina and beef in Texas.

Big Bob Gibson’s Bar-B-Q , Decatur, Alabama.

Side dishes needed to be standardized, too. When barbecues were large, community-organized affairs, the side dishes consisted of food that was easy to carry in bulk and without refrigeration. As cooks began establishing regular barbecue businesses, they generally chose a different (but reasonably small) set of side dishes to carry. Many reflected local specialties or preferences; others were simply recipes that the particular proprietor knew well and felt would be an economical item to sell. “Back in the old days,” recalls Wayne Monk of Lexington Barbecue in Lexington, North Carolina, “you was trying to have something you could handle in the hot weather but didn’t cost an arm and a leg—what is locally available and what’s cheap.”13 Initially, sides tended toward items like bread, pickles, and onions. Coleslaw was an early favorite in North Carolina because locally grown cabbage was abundant and cheap and, if you didn’t add mayonnaise, it wasn’t very perishable.As mechanical refrigeration, air conditioning, and electric deep fryers became more common, new items such as potato salad and French fries began to appear on barbecue restaurant menus, too.